A Dance In The Dark
by MissRedheaded
Summary: When a man comes back from the past to have his revenge on Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes won't stand on the side and watch. Throw in an ex-boyfriend, death threats and a Jealousy and Protective Sherlock, who won't mind his own business!
1. Prolog

**A DANCE IN THE DARK**

**Authors note;** So, I've never tried to write a sherlock holmes fiction before, so I have no idea what the heck I'm doing.. He might become a bit OCC, just a heads up.. He's a complex character and to those who managed to write him down as he his, Kudos! You're amazing! Also, I'm not a native speaker, so if you do find errors, please let me know!

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><p><strong>PROLOG<strong>

_One_

_Two_

_Three_

She counted the seconds slowly and carefully inside her head, and then over again. One, two, three. Swift and fast she made the cuts with an exact precision. Her teachers would have been proud if they saw her now. Confident and all, not some kind of small tiny, scared mouse who always did what other told her. They didn't know back then, what was hidden behind dark eyes and sweet smiles. One, two, three. Another one, quickly and with more pressure this time, she let her hands do what they did best. She looked down and smiled at the scalpel in her hand, maybe this was actually really working.

She glanced at the clock again, watching the seconds tick away. Still barely two. She would have to get ready soon. Tuck away her white lab coat and change into her other cloths, refresh her make up again, lipstick and then the hair. This wasn't for him, she reminded herself. Not at all.

She glanced down at the mid thirty year old man that was lying in front of her. He had been handsome , she could tell, before he dropped dead for whatever reason, but she could still imagine the smile that he must have worn. Probably a charming one, the kind that would have a lot of woman trouble thinking straight. She sighted at the thought of her nonexistent of a love life. At least the dead paid her the respect she deserved, not unlike someone else that she would keep unmentioned.

Beep, beep, you've got a new message.

_Remember, police station at 3  
>– Lestrade<em>

She snorted at the text. As if she could possibly forget? She looked at the clock again, a quarter to three. Better get ready then, she thought and sighted. The gloves landed in the bin quickly, she would have to finish the autopsy with the nice gentleman later. The morgue was left with hasty and hurried steps, up and across the lab, to her own office. Quick brush through her hair, she managed to take a shaking breath in between. She would do this, she could. There was nothing that could possibly go wrong. A quick visit to the station and then this would all be over. Once and for all, and the perhaps she would finally be able forget herself.

"Molly" Someone called out to her but she barely registered the voice. It was familiar her brain told her, but there wasn't time for that, not today. Letting the voices fade away she managed to make her way to the elevator.

Simple she thought as she passed through the door to Bart's. Cab, yes. Breath, breath she reminded herself as she crossed the street. Breathing was good, it was perhaps the only thing keeping her together by the last few strings she had.

But then he came, out from the shadows, in his black long coat that she had almost forgotten all about. He grinned the second he saw her and she could see him striding with those long legs, towards her. Quickly and smoothly, like a hunter walking towards his pray.

She hadn't forgotten that at least, the smile of a monster. Knowing that it was probably useless, her legs made a run for it, but it could only get her so far. He came from behind as fast as ever, a firm and tight grip on her throat. She was caught, the hunter and the hunted. The small white innocent rabbit.

"Oh no you don't" He growled and as if she was just a tiny feather, he lifted and dragged her away from the people and the lights and into the darkness, into the tunnel's and ally where none would hear her scream.

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><p>Lestrade was tapping is foot in annoyance as he waited with a growing impatience. His arms were crossed and the usually kind grin was just a thin line of lips. He wasn't happy, at all. It was never like Molly Hooper to be late, especially not considering what day today was. He looked down at his watch, 3.10. Late, how could she be late?<p>

A pair of footsteps came up behind him and with relief he turned around. "Molly, finally! I was beginning to wonder what was taking you so long" But it wasn't Molly who was standing in front of him. The figure of Sherlock Holmes was glaring at him with his usual cold eyes that he seems to save up for those stupid, average humans.

"Lestrade, have you perhaps gone completely deaf since the last time I saw you? He raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry Sherlock, was expecting someone else"

"Well clearly" He muttered sourly.

He turned around to glance at Sherlock again. "What are you doing here anyway? As far as I am concerned we haven't called you in for a, consult. "

"Don't worry; I'll soon be out of your hair. Just came from Bart's to finish up a case."

Lestrade froze at the words that left Sherlock's mouth. "Bart's?" That gut feeling in his stomach was back again. Like he had drunken something cold, and it was turning the inside of him to a tumult."You didn't happen to see Molly there did you?" Please say yes, his gut begged him. He swallowed away the cold lump in his throat. It meant nothing.

"Well, yes I did actually, but she ignored me, which is strange, but then again, she has been doing awfully a lot lately. Saw her leave about the same time I did" He shrugged, already looking bored and impatient to get out and onto bigger and better cases then stand here. "Why do you ask?"

"Nothing" Lestrade waved off. "I guess..i..must have just simply..missed her" he muttered and without excusing himself, he left with fast and quick footsteps towards his office. Halfway through the building his phone beeped loudly.

_You didn't really thing you would catch me that easy Lestrade, did you? That she would take one look, and then you would have had be in chains, like the monster you claim I am. I mean, come on, do you really think I'm THAT stupid? _

_Too bad that sweet Molly is the one who will pay the price for your mistake…. But then again, it was her's to begin with, to be so naïve and to believe that she would escape me. I gave her a promise and it's a promise I tend to keep. To death do us apart, or how was it again?_

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><p><strong><em> Love reviews so please leave a note!<em>**


	2. A Shadow From The Past

**_Chapter 1 _**

**_- A Shadow From The Past - _**

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><p>Walls.<p>

White hospital walls to be more exact. Molly opened her eyes but closed them quickly again, letting herself be surrounded by the darkness again. No, no this was some kind of trick again. Something new to mess with her mind, to make her more confused. He wouldn't have let her go, not alive at least. She knew why he had shown up; it was all there in his cold gray eyes. But this had to be a mistake. It had to; there was nothing else that could possibly make any sense. She opened them again, letting the light peck through. It burned but soon enough her eyes adjusted to the dim light that was casting its shadow's around the room.

"Molly, how are you feeling?" Lestrade's voice greeted her ears softly.

"Like I've been dragged behind a truck" Molly murmured hoarsely. There wasn't a part of her body that didn't ache or throbbed. He really had given quite a go at her. But then again, she didn't blame him because she did deserve it. Not to be beaten to an inch of her life, but not to this extent. "How long have I been here?" She sat up, ignoring the protest from her limbs. He looked tired she noted, as if he hadn't slept in a week or two.

"You've been in a coma state for the last three days"

"And before that?" Her voice was merely a whisper as she tried to gather some strength to keep herself awake.

"Four day" Lestrade looked away and stepped away from her bed. This time, she looked at him. Past the unshaved face and the wrinkled gray suit that was hanging loosely on his body. His face had never looked as worn as it did now, nor had his eyes been filled with that much guilt. "An old lady found you in one of the tunnel's under the metro system. You were barely alive when we arrived. The medics said you are very lucky to be alive"

"Greg, this isn't your fault. This isn't anybody fault. You thought you had the right guy and so did I"

Molly glanced down at her sore hands that were filled with small cuts. She was still hoping that this was all a dreams and that she would soon wake up but those little cuts wouldn't go away. But there was something she needed to remember, something he had said that she couldn't quite get herself to recall. Somewhere between the cutting and the hitting he had stopped and said something. She knew it was important but what was it?

"Did you find my phone?" She swallowed away the lump in her throat.

"Your phone? No.. I don't think so. Why, is that important somehow?" Lestrade shifted nervously.

"Can I borrow yours? I need to make a quick phone call" Molly's voice went flat, losing all its emotions. She remembered now. Those words he had whispered in her ear that made her blood turn cold.

"Here, use mine" a voice coming near the door. John Watson stepped out of the shadows and into the light, his face just as worried as Lestrade seemed to be. She lifted her head and glanced around the room, something she hadn't even considered doing until now.

It wasn't like she had expected him to be there. In fact he was probably the last person she even wanted to see right next to her hospital bed. But there he was anyway, standing by the windows glancing out. His hands were crossed and he was leaning against the walls, his long and wonderful coat with his collar turned up and a stern expression on his face. One Molly wasn't used to seeing at all. He looked angry, and not just like someone who had just lost a bet. He had the same look she had seen on the man she had spent years running away from, the look of someone who wanted to commit murder.

"Molly?" John's voice was soft and she could hear the worry in it. He pitied her. She held back the groan that wanted to escape. This was the last thing she wanted.

She remained quite as she reached for the phone in John's hand. "Would you guys mind going outside?" Nobody moved or answered for that either. "Guess not" She muttered sorely as she dialed the number.

_Please pick up_ she prayed. _Please don't be dead_

"David Johnson" A elder man's voice sparked at the other end and Molly breathed out the breath she had been holding.

"It's me"

"You ok?" His voice was soft at the other end. She had almost forgotten how sweet he could be towards her. Then again, she had almost forgotten how David sounded at all.

She nodded, knowing that he couldn't see it, but Molly wasn't sure if her voice would hold throughout the phone call. "He's back" she sighted as the words left her mouth. "And he's pretty pissed off to be honest. So you know, this would be a perfect time for you and Cassie to take a nice vacation. I heard Spain is lovely this time a year"

David sighted at the other end, and she knew that _his _ name didn't need to be mentioned. He knew who she was talking about. "He got to you, didn't he?"

Again, she nodded, letting the silence fall at her end. "I'm fine…just a few cuts and bruises. Nothing to worry about" I'm_ sorry.. I'm sorry for lying to you…_

"Molls, you know I don't believe that for a second do you. If this were nothing, you wouldn't ask me to flee the country."

"Please just listen this time?" Molly pleaded." Just this, can't you do as I say? You have a daughter to think about know, and both you and I know that if he gets you, he'll kill you. And I'm sorry for being selfish, but I can't let that happen. Not this time. So can't you do this, for me?"

"You want me to flee the county try so that he'll only go after you?" David growled at the other end.

"Yes" Molly bit back her tears that threated to escape. "Beside I'm safe here. I got the whole police force watching me and add a bit of the famous Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, I'm perfectly safe. I don't want to get you involved in this anymore, David. So just for me, go and take a good long vacation" She snapped the phone shut, drowning out the protest of David on the other phone.

Somehow managing to lift her hand, she reached out towards John with the phone. "Thanks" She mumbled, not looking at him and instead shifted her gaze on Greg who was standing with crossed arms glaring at her. "Greg, why don't you go home and get some sleep?"

He snorted as he looked at her. "Sleep?

"Yes sleep" She tried to hold back her own frustration. It was enough that Sherlock Holmes was hovering in her room, she didn't need the whole police force inside the room. "I'm fine Greg"

"I just want what's best for you" He said, shaking his head. He wanted her to safe, and safe meant not to be left alone. But knowing it wasn't going to do either of them any good of starting a fight, Lestrade walked out of the room against his own will.

"And so do I" John piped in. "But something tells me it won't do you any good if we keep hovering over you like this." He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Molly's cheek.

"Thank you John" and for the first time since waking up and being back in reality, Molly Hooper actually smiled.

"Sherlock?" John went closer to the statue that was standing by the window. Molly was all too aware that he hadn't moved since she had woken up. "Molly needs to get some sleep" He reached out and placed a hand softly on Sherlock's shoulder. "We need to go" But the man didn't move or seem to register the fact that John had spoken.

"Molly" John began and turned around towards the hospital bed and was met with a sleeping molly. It seemed that the pain medication had finally kicked in.

He took a last glance at Sherlock before leaving the room, letting Molly get the rest she needed. He just hoped that Sherlock would snap out of his own mind soon. It had been scary seeing the look in his eyes as they had hopelessly looked for Molly.. His eyes were fixed on the world on the other side of the glass and god knows what was going on inside of Sherlock Holm's head.


	3. A Sense Of Safeness

**Chapter 2**

**- A Sense Of Safeness -**

_Molly was surrounded by the cold and the darkness again. She was back in the tunnels underneath the earth, where she was hidden from the rest of the world with her hunter._

_He was hovered over her, an evil smile on his thin lips, his stinking breath filling her nose with a smell she had hoped to forget. He was drunk, again. _

"_You didn't really think that I had forgotten you, Mels?" He grinned, letting her nickname flow ever so smoothly across his cold lips. If it wasn't for the knife that was already covered in her blood, it could easily have been mistaken as a complement. But it was there, in his hand, shining in the blackness. He was going to either grab her or just simply stab her. She could tell, as too many times before. "We made a promise, you and I. If I have to be hunted because of our mistakes, the so will so will you"_

_She wanted to yell that he was the one who had gotten himself into the mess all along. He had chosen it, not her. He had done those horrible things, entirely by himself not her._

_Back then, when she had been Miss bad girl, and not the sweet heart everyone though she was today. She had still been there, despite everything that came in their way, desperately wanting to help him, even when it all spanned out of control. And here he was again, thinking that she could somehow solve his problems. That just the mere existence of her could fix everything._

_He picked her up, his arms gripping her tightly and then threw her away into the nearest wall. Like a fly she fell and landed on the cold and dirty ground. Her limbs had already giving up hours ago, and it should have been painful but her mind managed to block it out, everything except his voice. _

"_You and that David, you thought you were so clever when you betrayed me and called the cops on me" He growled and started walking towards he again. She swallowed down the fear and the terror that torn her insides, as she could hear his footsteps coming closer and closer._

_Somehow she managed to find the energy to shake her head but the movement went unnoticed. If she had said that it had been for the best, that what they were doing wasn't supposed to be known, he would laugh at her. If she tried to say that she did it because she loved him back then, Molly was pretty sure that he was going to kill her right there. _

_Closing her eyes, she drained out the sound of his voice and after a few shaking breathe, she lost all consciousness of the world around her. _

Molly gasped for breath as she jolted straight up from the hospital bed, her body trembling at the dream. It took a few minutes before she could calm herself down and let the dream flow back into her mind. But it hadn't been just a dream. She remembered that part clearly, that was before he had done…Molly shook her head, shaking out the thoughts of her time in that place. She wasn't going to think about it, not know at least. If she didn't think, it couldn't hurt her. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking from her part. But if it worked long enough without driving her insane this time, it would be worth lying to herself.

Her room was darker now. The light from the ceiling, that had cast dark shadows in her room, wasn't on. And yet, Molly's gaze went straight towards the window where Sherlock Holmes had been standing a couple of hours ago. She strained to see, but there was no sign of him now, and Molly breathed out a sign of relief. This wasn't a case she wanted him to get interested in. She could tolerate him deducting her every day. To be able to see through her in seconds, and hear his snarky remarks. But some secrets weren't meant to be told. Some things were better to be hidden and buried deep, then to have the best detective consult in Britain trying to dig them up.

"Molly?" a soft voice said in the dark hospital room.

Her body stiffed and it took all of her willpower to not scream inside the small room. The dark figure rose from the bed sofa. With the back to her, it strode towards where the bed lamp was and in a couple of second a familiar face was gazing at her.

"For god's sake!" She yelled angry, letting her heart slow down. "Are you trying to scare me to death Sherlock?"

He walked back to the sofa where his coat was already spread out and lay down and crossed one leg over the other. Molly frowned at the sight as she followed his movements.

"Hum..Sherlock?" She began, not really believe her eyes. "What..hm..What are you doing?"

"I am trying to get some sleep, which wouldn't be so difficult if you weren't moaning and gasping in your sleep for the last two hours" He mumbled tiredly. "But it seems that your mind can't find any rest and has to wake up us who do."

He sounded angry, irritated. He sounded just like Sherlock. And yet, despite what had happened these last couple of days, Molly Hooper found comfort in his voice. He didn't act like she was the victim. He didn't hover over her. And he didn't ask questions. Yet.

"I'm sorry" Molly felt herself blush at his words and as much as she wanted to snap back and tell him that this was what happens to people when horrible things happen to them, but she doubted that this were something he would understand. Puzzles and mystery he handled well, but this wasn't his area.

"Molly" He sighted and got up from his lying, and took a seat beside her bed.

"You've been here all this time, haven't you?" Molly looked up at the ceiling instead. She just couldn't stand those blue eyes. The last thing she needed to see in them was how stupid she had been. "Why do you have to be, _here? _Of all places, why do you need to sit by my bed when there are plenty of places for you to be in?

"Because" Sherlock began, and if Molly hadn't known better, she would say that he looked nervous. "This" He waved a hand towards her body. "Is my fault."

She looked at him, dumb. "You're fault? How on earth could this possibly your fault?"

He looked at her, with an expression she couldn't quite read. "Moriarty" Sherlock said simply, spitting the name out as if it was a deadly disease.

"Moriarty?" She echoed back, even more confused. This was _Sherlock Holmes. _"You think Moriarty did this to me?" Maybe it was all of the tension that had been lingering in her body, but Molly Hooper found herself laughing.

If it only _had _been Moriarty, things would have been much simpler. If it had been him, she wouldn't have got herself in this mess. Maybe he had been a criminal mastermind of some sort, but the few times she had sat down and drank a cup of coffee or shared a meal, he had been nice. Molly had been pondering long about him, and she knew that in those rare moments, she had gotten to see the true man inside him. Yes, he was a murdered, but there were moments when he had also simply been a man and nothing else. He may not have loved her, but there had been something lingering there. Feelings.

Letting the smile fade away, she glanced towards Sherlock again. "_This" _she pointed towards herself. _"_Has _nothing _to do with _Moriarty. _Nothing at all. So don't worry, you have nothing to be feeling guilty of, if that was your concern." She mumbled tired, feeling the morphine leaving her body.

"It hasn't?" He frowned as he let his head sank into his hands. She could practically see his brain starting to think about new theories. "But the whole thing with man on the phone.."

"David" She interrupted.

"And Lestrade" He continued, not taking notice to her correction. "I thought it had to be him. I mean who else could it be? Who could take such interest in _you_? And who could go to such measures to hurt you this much, without a motive? "

Molly snorted as she lied there, resisting the urge not to give him a small smack on his head. "In case you have noticed, I've had a life _before_ I meet youuuuu" Molly gasped as she dragged out the last letter. She could feel her eyes almost rolling into her head. It felt as if she was back there again, in the darkness. Every part of her body was beginning to come undone. Her limps that had been numb moments ago where beginning to feel every cut that had been made on her body.

"What's wrong?" He asked as he stood up quickly, rushing the small distance between them. The chair fell to the floor with a small sound, not expecting the sudden outburst.

"Nothing" She managed to say with her teeth clenched. She wasn't going to scream, no matter how painful it was. "It's just the painkillers. They're starting to wear off again. There is still some left in the IV, so it will just take some time before they kick in" She took a shaky breath and smile weakly. "I'll be fine in a second"

Molly leaned away from Sherlock who was closer then she had ever seen him before and closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing instead. In and out. One, two, three. Steady. Nose and mouth. Breath. She let her mind go blank, letting the blackness fill her up, until she could feel herself becoming nothing. Molly Hooper didn't exist; she was just a small atom in the air, floating without really being.

She wasn't sure how long she had been lying there. But somewhere between it all, she had managed to fall asleep again. But this time, there was no nightmares visiting her. There was neither monster nor man haunting her. And as Molly woke up for the second time that night, in quietness and calmness, she understood what had kept it all at bay.

In the little space on the bed that wasn't covering her body; the head of Sherlock Holmes was resting comfortably. His dark curls were hiding the most part of his face. He was beautiful; there was no doubt about it. He looked relax as he sleep, not like the, almost painful expression that she could see behind his well-worn mask.

And then she noticed why she had slept so well. In the small part of the bed, that wasn't hidden made Molly's heart skip a beat. Somehow, he had linked his hand together with hers. It was a simple gesture, but it made her smile widely none the less. And soon again, with only the moonlight giving some light, she fell asleep again. With no monsters hiding in them.


	4. A Reminder Of The Past

_Another chapter! Can you believe it? Neither can I :) You'll either hate this chapter, or love it. I know that some are waiting for those wonderful Sherlock/Molly moments, and they are coming, believe! Just hang in there a bit long. I really want to write a proper Suspence/Romance/Hurt/Comfort and Drama story and I want to do it right. (Meaning no falling piano or anything weird showing up) __A HUGE thank you to the wonderful **eccentricpetal** (and who I'm finding out to be quite amazing, I might add). She's been kind enough to help out being a Beta._

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

**A Reminder of The Past**

It had been seven days and ten minutes since she had been kidnapped, right outside of the hospital parking lot in broad day light by the man she had spent years trying from.

It had been three days and four hours since Sherlock Holmes had, for some reason, decided that spending the night by her bedside was a good idea.

It had been two days, three hours and twenty four minutes since her doctor had, had the decency to explain to her how much damage her body had suffered from the constant abuse she was subjected to. It had taken him another twenty minutes before he had stopped lying to her about all of the facts and wounds that they had discovered on her body.

It had been less than twenty four hours ago when a bouquet of beautiful flowers, red roses to be exact, had been delivered along with a card. It had taken Sherlock Holmes less than half an hour to somehow appear back in her room once again after that.

It had been fifteen minutes ago since she had gotten the phone call, someone who knew about the card and its meaning as well as she did.

Molly drummed a rhythm with her fingers against the frame of the hospital bed as she waited impatiently.

It was only a matter of time now.

Slowly but surely her own mind had started blocking out some parts while letting her remember other parts quite clearly. Her mind had begun blocking out the worst, the assault and the beating. While the words and the whispers, were still inside her head.

Focusing on breathing, she tried to relax, but her mind was working furiously at trying to remember things that she thought that she had long forgotten. Things that she hadn't any recollection of before- things that had happened when she had been young and foolish.

"Would you please stop that annoying drumming, I can't think!" Sherlock hissed from the sofa, clearly annoyed as he shifted his position.

"I know, that's the whole point." Molly said, sourly as she looked at him with stubborn eyes. "If you can't think, then you can't try and figure out what that sweet, little note that was left for me meant."

Sherlock glared at Molly before sighing. "I am just trying to help."

"Well maybe I don't want _your _help," she muttered.

This _game_ had been going on for almost an hour now.

He kept speaking, asking questions and wondering. But Molly refused to budge. This wasn't something she wanted him to know. He could insult her all he wanted, he could point out her weaknesses and things that made her dull, but he wouldn't get inside of her head. Letting out a frustrated breath, she glanced at the clock once more and as it passed three, the door to her room opened.

"I was beginning to wonder when you were going to show up." Molly smiled at her guest. "Took you long enough though, to figure out that it was me, Mycroft Holmes."

"Miss Hooper, you do understand that as a citizen of Britain you are required to tell us all you know, so that we can solve this unfortunate _event." _

"Mycroft?" Sherlock got up from his place and walked towards his brother. "What are you doing here?"

"He doesn't know." Molly murmured, suddenly feeling her cheeks turn red. She had nothing to be ashamed of, not really. "And he won't for that matter, neither will you." She shifted her gaze to Mycroft, letting her eyes speak for her. They were more or less shouting at him, telling him to back off.

"Well isn't this fascinating!" Mycroft exclaimed, smiling towards his brother. "That the world's one and only consulting detective hasn't managed to figure out the problem, let alone solve it."

"Stop it, both of you!" Molly cried out angrily. "I won't have you two bickering about who knows more about me. " She turned her attention back to Mycroft, while trying to ignore the looks from Sherlock. "I know that you've somehow figured out that the man who did this to me was none other than Henry Wilkinson." Molly sighed as her mind started thinking about the consequences. "And what happened between us, or rather what you want to know about what happened between us. You want the compound that we were responsible to design. The experiment that was supported and paid by Gladstone Cooperation" She crossed her eyes in an attempt to control her own emotions. "The same company, if my memory serves me right, that your father owned. Let me save you the trouble of asking by telling you straight away that it was never created and it never will be." She finished, her face now expressionless.

"Miss Hooper," Mycroft began with a voice reeking of authority, as he walked closer to her bed. "This is in the interest of the Nation. If you know anything about what you and Mr. Wilkinson were working on, you need to tell us! Of course, we will make sure this man will not be roaming the streets for your own safety."

"My safety?" Molly raised an eyebrow as she glared at him. "This man is a killing machine, Mr. Holmes, if anything you would want to protect the people of this _nation_ and not _just_ me. As for the experiment we were working on, I'm sure Mr. Gladstone has it all saved in storage, so there is no need to ask me about it."

As he dropped his gaze from her, a small shade of pink spread across Mycroft's cheeks. "Actually, no, we don't." He shifted, uncomfortable. "It seems that for some reason, your files are flagged. The only thing left is a piece of paper, saying that for safety reasons the "Hooper" experiment has been terminated and all documents burned." There was bitterness in Mycroft's voice and something told Molly that this was a man who disliked it when things didn't go as planned.

Relief spread across Molly's face. "So he kept his promise, that's good at least. I never knew if I could take his word for it back then, but I'm glad he kept his promise." She said quietly in a low voice, more to herself then to anyone else in the room that might have been paying attention. "Anyway," she spoke up, "there is nothing to tell. Something went wrong, and Henry thinks it's my fault so now he's trying to get justice and kill me." She shrugged. "If you think there is more to it, you're wrong, both of you." She nodded towards Sherlock who was leaning against the wall, listening to every detail that left her mouth.

A heavy silence fell over the room and the only sound that could be heard came from Molly's heart monitor. "Oh, you stupid, silly boys." She muttered, feeling a heaviness overcome her. Throwing the cover off, she grabbed the edge of the bed to pull herself up. With a few shaky movements she managed to stand up and direct herself towards the wheelchair near the bed. "There is nothing interesting about me or my past or even my present life. I'm just Molly Hooper, a strange girl who wears weird jumpers and tries to impress guys who always treat her as a dumb, silly girl." Sitting down, she unlocked the wheels and turned around towards the two brothers who still hadn't spoken a word. "You're both trying to find something that simply isn't there and if I were you, I would stop looking because you won't find anything." And with that, she wheeled herself out of the room, away from the tension and the secrets that were buried in her heart.

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><p>It was dark when she wheeled herself back into her room. Quickly she reached to turn on the lights, trying to ignore the feelings of fear creeping up her back. She couldn't handle the pitch blackness anymore; the dancing shadows scared her, because behind them there would always be a monster hiding. But today, tonight, there was none hiding in her room.<p>

The roses that had been placed by the window earlier were now gone, along with the note that had been next to them. All that was left now was an empty vase with a blue piece of paper.

_He said you made a big fuss about them and for some reason; he felt the need to take care of your problem. He only wants what is best for you, Molly; let him catch this guy for you. Whatever you said to Sherlock, or maybe didn't say, I think you need to talk to him before he does something mad and crosses the line. – John W._

The pillows on the sofa had been placed back in to their rightful place. The same pillows Sherlock had spent too many hours trying to fit in the right place between his neck and back. The pillows he had then ended up throwing across the room when they didn't do as he wished.

Molly sighed as she picked up the blue paper that had been left behind. She simply couldn't tell him and she didn't want to. Having Sherlock in her life, disrupting her at work, was challenging enough. John had told her about the time when they had, had a break in at Baker Street and Sherlock had beaten the man half to death because he had laid a hand on Mrs. Hudson. If he felt any feelings towards her, at all, she couldn't even begin to think of what he would do to Henry if he found him; and if he really found out why he was here again… Molly shuddered at the thought. She couldn't even think about that.

Tying up her hospital robe, she went to the bathroom, where a big mirror hung. Letting the robe fall off her, she turned around to look at the scars on her back. Some of them were new, still red and not yet healed. She shuddered at the sight of how many there truly was. But that wasn't what she was looking for now. She lifted a finger and began tracing a bigger scar that was trailing along her back, thick and white. She remembered that one. There were smaller ones too, almost like a double track. The price she had paid had seemed like it was worth it back then, suddenly it didn't feel like it was now.

The price she had paid to feel again.

The price she had paid to feel pain, warmth and coldness.

The price she had paid to feel _anything_ at all.

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><p><strong>Please don't forget to leave something behind before you leave :)<strong>


	5. A Hunting Ghost

_I am so sorry for the late update but I've had a busy week! Hopefully this chapter will make up for the wait, even if it's just a little bit! Thank you for all your wonderful and amazing comments on the last chapter! I've never grinned so much in my entirely life, well at least not when it comes to writing! And once again, a big thanks to_ _**eccentricpetal **for taking on the Beta work. Any other mistakes that are left, are all mine! Hope you like it :D_

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><p><strong>- Chapter 4 -<strong>

** A Hunting Ghost **

_Molly was back in the grave yard again. _

_The moonlight was shining as bright as it had been before, leaving small traces of light. _

_Just like last night, the metal doors opened at her presence without her even touching them. It was like they knew. With fast steps she began walking and her eyes began searching for the same grave stone she had last time. For some reason, her mind wouldn't let find her find it yet. There had been different scenarios, everyone ending with her not being able to find what she was looking for, but she knew it was her mind trying to tell her something. She wouldn't be in this place again, if it weren't for a reason. Yeah, it was only a dream, but her conscience was trying to tell her something. _

_She felt her legs being pulled into a direction of their own accord, as if she had no control over them at all. Suddenly it was there, the grave she had been searching for in her dreams. Unlike before, she felt herself sink down on to her knees in front of it. _

_That's when he came. _

_Pale and white as a ghost, with the same red cuts and scars that he had died with. The same painful expression he had worn as he had died. _

"_Molly," his voice was barely a whisper, but it was the same voice she had remember back from when she was young. She thought she had forgotten the way he used to talk and a part of her was thankful that she hadn't. This was only a dream though and for all she knew, she could be wrong. But to forget him, wasn't possible._

_Feeling her eyes tearing up at the sight of him, she quickly wiped them away and somehow she managed find her voice to whisper back to him. "I'm sorry!" This was her fault; her fault that he was dead. "I didn't know back then what he was planning! How could I have! I just thought that this was a chance for us to have a normal life like everyone else. To be able to feel, I thought you wanted that as much as I did!"_

_He floated towards her, barely hovering over the ground and Molly felt her blood turn cold. He hadn't been like this in her dreams before. He had been kind, smiling and comforting. "You knew what he was planning as well as I did. You knew what he was going to do to us, all for the sake of being successful! And yet you did NOTHING!" He screamed at her with a rage she hadn't seen before. "You took my life away from me!" _

"_I thought…" But her voice drowned out as he came even closer, his eyes shining with sadness. Ghost couldn't cry she wanted to say. Ghost and dreams didn't belong together, but her feet stayed where they were._

"_This is your fault." He was calm now and that scared her even more. _

_He had never been calm. _

_He had been passionate but never calm._

"_And it's time you felt what it is like to die." He grinned as he bent down towards her. _

_Molly screamed as the dead man grabbed a hold of her leg and started pulling her down towards his grave. _

_Horrified she realized that someone had dug it up._

_She tried to fight him as she fell into the dark pit, but she couldn't grab or pull him away. _

_Her hands reached out into nothingness. _

_He was untouchable. _

Gasping for air, her eyes snapped open.

It had been so _real_.

The reek of death and the smell of decomposing had filled her nostrils as she backed away from the ghost. And as he had grabbed her leg and started to pull her towards the grave and underground, she had felt it. The pressure against her skin as the man had reached for her and the arm that had been sneaking around her neck.

Leaning back in bed, Molly tried to calm down her racing heart that was beating fast, as if she had run a mile.

Casting a glance towards the alarm clock by her bed, she sighed and threw the covers away. It was barely four in the morning. But it was too late to go back to sleep. Her mind wouldn't let her rest even if she tried to go back to sleep. He would be hunting her again. As if the nightmares with Henry in them beating her to death wasn't enough.

Drenched in sweat she managed to stand up on shaky legs and headed out towards the kitchen. A good cup of tea would do her good. She could use a shower to clear her head.

Toby purred as she picked him up and held him against her chest. It felt good to at least have someone near her.

It had been four days since she had finally been released from the hospital, despite protest from both Lestrade and John. Even her own doctor had tried to persuade her to stay a little longer but when even dear Mrs. Hudson and Shawn from the cafeteria, whom she had never really spoken to, had shown up by her hospital bed, she knew she had to get out of there before she went mad.

She managed to get both her and Toby to the kitchen in one piece without falling over something as her legs were still too weak to really carry her own weight. Setting him down on the kitchen table she put the kettle on for some hot tea. It always had a calming effect on her when she needed it the most.

"Mind if I have a cup?"

Molly shrieked as she turned around and once again, the familiar face of Sherlock was there. "Why..? How? ..." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as she lent against the counter, supporting herself as she tried to calm her racing pulse.

"Why are you here?"

"Just a friendly visit, that's all" He smiled as he walked around Molly's kitchen table.

"It's four in the morning, Sherlock!" She glared at him, her breathing all but calm now.

There was a limit to what Molly Hooper could handle and he was starting to cross it.

"You haven't visited me in the hospital since the meeting with Mycroft and that was a week ago; so why now? She crossed her arms, ignoring the itching in her fingers to give him a good slap. Sometimes she wondered if he really was human when he tended to forget how to act like one.

"Oh, I've just been doing so research and I found out something, about Henry Wilkinson. I was hoping you might give me some answers about him." Sherlock began talking as he threw is coat over one of the kitchen chairs and sat down.

"How does a successful professor, who specializes in spine marrow and nerves around that area, become a killing machine? And what is the relationship between you two?" He muttered, more to himself than to Molly, letting his brain try and fit the puzzle pieces together. "It doesn't make sense to me Molly. If I got my math right both of you can't have worked on something for Gladstone Corporation."

Trying to swallow down the panic that had started to rise in Molly's chest, she answered as smooth as she could. "And why is that exactly? "

"_Because,_" he rose from his chair, "Gladstone Corporation was bankrupt and disappeared at the time you turned fifteen. I'd love to believe that you were born a genius Molly, but both you and I know that you don't have the brain capacity for a project like that. Now, why don't you be a _good girl_ and tell me what's going on here" His voice turned ice cold as he looked at her, demanding. There was no warmth in them now, no spark of excitement.

If anything Molly could have sworn she saw worry in them, worry for her and that something might happen to her.

"There is nothing to tell." She gulped and right now she hated herself for how weak her voice sounded.

"_Please." _

Oh god.

Molly could feel her willpower slowly breaking.

His voice actually cracked as he looked at her.

A big part of her wanted to believe that this was just a part of his act to make her talk. She had seen him play it before, to get a response out of woman. She had seen him start crying for no reason to try and get the truth out only to switch it off a second later.

'_Just acts,'_ her mind whispered.

"No," she forced out while hating herself for it. She was going to stick by her rule. Her _'don't-let-Sherlock-know-about-your-past'_ rule. One which seemed to be slipping every moment she was in the same room as him.

She saw him straighten himself up, letting a mask fall over his face again. Like so many times before, he hid himself away. "Very well, then answer me this instead. Why don't you exist?"

"What?" The question threw her completely off. "What do you mean by that? Of course I exist!" She exclaimed and pointed to where her feet were. "I'm standing right here, aren't I?"

Sherlock shook his head as he looked at her.

"No you don't. I've looked through every database I could possibly find. I've researched hospital records and you are nowhere to be found. No birthdate record or checkups. I even managed to call up your mum, who's not such a charming woman, and hung up the second I mentioned your name. There is no Molly Hooper; you don't exist"

Molly froze.

She hadn't expected that.

She knew that Sherlock would go and try to find Henry. She had given him that clue to keep him busy and away from her. To keep him focused on something other than her. She knew it would all lead to a dead end, like it should. But her, she hadn't expected that. To him, she had just been a pathologist. The girl who would bring him coffee and let him come and go as he wished.

"I..that..I mean…" She stammered but the words just wouldn't come.

She couldn't explain this away and for a second she cursed herself for not making up something long ago. Just in case she would end up in situations like this, but then again, normal people wouldn't go to such lengths.

Lestrade knew about her records and so did the administration at the hospital. But Sherlock, he had never counted, nor had anyone else for that mattered. This was her burden and hers alone.

Jim, he had been close once, guessing that there was something that she carried inside of her, something dark and deep. It had been on their first date. He hadn't pushed but he had declared that he noticed something was a little off with her. But he never had made a big deal out of it or even asked. He had told her that he knew how it was to carry something inside of you, that sooner or later would tear you apart or come back hunt you down.

"Molly," his voice was softer now as he spoke and taking the few steps between them, he closed the distance.

This time he really looked at her, in a way he _hadn't_ done before.

Past the too small lips and her nose and the bruises that were still visible on her face.

There was fear in her eyes, fear that if he found out her secret, he would pity her.

Fear that even he, the _Great_ Sherlock Holmes, wouldn't be enough to protect her.

On his own accord he lifted his hand and let his fingers trace the blue and yellow bruises lightly on her face.

Oddly enough, he found her _beautiful_ behind them.

Her eyes had started to shine with a determination recently that hadn't been there before.

She didn't stammer or sound insecure around him. She was standing up for once; standing her ground against _him._

He couldn't quite explain his actions, but the desire to make those bruises stop hurting and go away, filled him up in a way he didn't understand.

"I just want to help you." He could hear himself plead.

He never pleaded, _ever._

Molly tried to ignore the touch that lingered on her cheek, the shiver that crept up her spine in all the good ways. She tried to pretend that she couldn't feel Sherlock's chest against her own. That he wasn't standing closer to her than he ever had before. She ignored the fact that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her face.

"I want you _safe_._"_

Molly could feel her heart speed up and she was hating him for it. Hating that in a mere look and a touch he could reduce her to nothing. And most of all, she could feel all those reason for _not _telling him, fade away.

"_Molly."_

She could feel his lips against her skin, pressing ever so gently against her bruises.

She expected it to hurt, but the touch was soft and as light as a feather.

She felt her eyes close on their own accord, as he leaned even closer, pressing himself against her.

Her hands somehow found the counter behind her and gripped it to try to keep herself steady. She knew he had won this round and she knew that if he asked her _anything _she _would_ answer.

"What happened to you all of those years ago?" Sherlock leant back from her, just so that he could look at her.

She saw it there, in his _eyes_.

He might have been like a machine most of the time she had known him, not letting the world see him as anything else. But right there, in that small moment, she could see that he actually cared, he actually cared for _her. _

But just as Molly was about to spill it all, the doorbell rang.

If it had been any other time of the day, she might have stayed right there, but no normal person would come by her door at half five in the morning.

She rushed away from Sherlock and opened the door; ready to yell at whoever was standing there.

But the person was already _gone_.

Frowning, she was about to close the door when she noticed it, a white _envelope_ with her name on it written in blue ink.

Carefully she picked it up and opened it and for a second time that night, she felt her blood freeze.

"Who was it?"

Quickly, she hid the envelope behind her back.

"No one, just some of the kids in the building playing pranks I guess." Molly shrugged as she glanced out towards the hallway. "You need to leave."

Before Sherlock even had time to react, Molly pushed him out through the door and closed it as quickly as she could, making sure to put on every lock to keep him out.

She looked down at the photo in her hand, the one someone had delivered to her doorstep.

They _shouldn't_ have known where she lives.

The man in the photo was _smiling_.

But it was all wrong.

He was too _old_.

He was too _happy_.

He was too _alive._

Her _ghost_ was grinning up at her.

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><p><strong>Don't forget to drop a little review off as you pass!<strong>


	6. A Race For The Truth

**Author's note: _Hi again! I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter but with easter last weekend ( not religious person but we do eat a lot of good food) and being back at work after a sick leave for 4 weeks, things sort of caught up with me more then i thought.._**

**and I'm also leaving for the states in about a week so there is still a lot of planing to do on that part! and it it is any comfort for all the waiting, the chapter themselves have in fact increased in word account! I think the first chapter was around 2000 and this once is almost 4000! so more to read =)**

**_This chapter isn't edit yet, but since I thought you've all waited long enough, you'll have to stand my own crappy English _****_with possibly misspellings and words that doesn't make sense =)  
><em>****_  
><em>****_I tried to look it over the best I could and my Beta will take a crack at it when she's finished with school work so this chapter will be replaced then! Anyway, hope you'll still stick around to see this story through to the end_**

**_- Anna _**

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><p><strong>- Chapter 5 -<strong>

** A Race For The Truth**

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><p>It was quiet and somewhat peaceful in the dim lab that was just across the morgue at Bart's and someone seemed to be all too busy working late into the night.<p>

Molly Hooper knew very well that she shouldn't been here at all, and especially not at this late hour. Thankfully there was none here to tell her off and send her away. She knew that even if it was just the janitor walking by, he would send her home in an instant. It seemed that the rumor of her being kidnapped had spread faster and wider then she could have begun to picture.

But after the strange message that had been left by her doorstep and Sherlock's new attempts of making her "talk", she had no choice but to run here to hide out instead of resting at her own flat.

Everyone seemed to be making a big fuss round her, wherever it was about her cuts and bruises that she was all too aware were still quite visible at the places where her cloths couldn't hide them away or simply the small fact that _someone _was actually after _her. _ Within a week, she had gone from the small and innocent Molly that everyone thought they knew to something completely different. She could see it in their eyes and the way they all looked at her, pity. It was there, hanging in the air like a thick cloud waiting to fall down at her. Strangely enough though, none dared to speak the words out loud, perhaps too afraid to do so.

The few past few hour that she had at the moment of being alone, to be able to sit down and do some boring paper work, calmed her mind more then she would like to admit. It was nice for once not to be thinking of the mess that she actually was, even if it would only last for a short few hours.

Molly glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, barely visible in the darkness but whose minutes where still slowly ticking away. It was making her nervous, in ways it hadn't before the incident. Usually if people had shown up late in the past, it wouldn't have been a big deal but with a murder set after her, Molly couldn't help but to fear the safety of her friends, the few ones she had. She bit her fingers nervously as she waited with a growing impatience.

"Molly?" Greg Lestrade called out as he flung the door open. It took all of her willpower not to scream at the sudden appearance. "I got your message."

"Hi" Sighting with relief at the sight of him, she calmed her nerves and walked over to the table closet to the door and sat down.

"Good. I wasn't sure you would understand it, but I needed to try to contact you in some way that Sherlock hopefully wouldn't understand what it meant." Molly said with a weak smile on her face, but knowing that Lestrade had begun finding Sherlock just as irritating as she did, helped her lame excuse of being all cryptic.

"Well" Lestrade began as he shrugged of his jacket that was dripping with water and took a seat opposite of Molly. "To be perfectly honest Molly, I'm not sure what you meant by it either. I understood where and when you wanted to meet but not what it was about"

There it was again, in his voice, the worrying and the pity. Ignoring it, she gave herself a metal kick. This wasn't the time for it.

"This is what I want to talk to you about"

With nervous hands, Molly reached into her handbag and pulled out the envelope that had been dropped off at her flat not too long ago. "Someone dropped it off at my door a few hours ago. It's a picture of someone who I know to be long dead and gone"

Puzzled and more than confused Lestrade took the photograph and glanced down at it. A small gasp escaped his lips as he realized what, or rather who was in the picture. "But…this..this is…" He trailed off as he pointed at the photo in his hand, unable to finish the sentence himself as he gazed down at the picture once again, starring at it in disbelief.

"Yeah. I know and I know what you're thinking Greg. He shouldn't exist. That photo shouldn't be here. It's simply not possible" Molly breathed out shaky as she glanced at the photo once again. It felt good to say the words out loud. It made the photo seem more alive and real that just some silly dream she had been having just hours before. To admit to herself, that no matter how _impossible _and _unreal_ this seemed to be, it wasn't. "I know this is going to sound competently mad, but I need you to try and look him up for me. I need to find out where he's been all this time, and why he isn't... well you know... _dead_. "

"It's not...This isn't _CIS, _I can't just _look _him up Molly"

Lestrade shook his head in disbelief as he threw the photo onto the table and leaned back into his chair, suddenly looking more tired than Molly had ever seen him. Eyes that seemed to be screaming impossible glared back at her.

"He's _dead _Molly. He died right by your side 15 years ago. I was just a trainee at that time, but I watched as the doctor take his pulse and declare him dead. We both watched as they carried him away." He crossed his arms, and once again shook his head, like the action itself would somehow stop this madness. "Whatever this photo is, it has to be some kind of prank. A mean one at that, but a prank none the less. "

Impossible eyes seemed to be taunting her.

"I know that Greg, I do, but what if this isn't some stupid prank. What if this is real and he's actually _alive?_ What then? Should I just leave this alone and pretend that he never existed?

She hated the desperate tone that was escaping her mouth, but this was about _him. _If it had been anyone else she would probably have just gone back to bed and said that this whole thing was some done with a bit of Photoshop skills and leave it at that. But after having the man whom had helped her become whole again, now trying to kill her instead and then having a photo that simply should not be showing up, her mind was saying something else. This wasn't a coincidence. It couldn't be.

"Yes!" Lestrade growled, and for a moment he looked angry as he starred at her. "That's exactly what you should do Molly! There is someone out there who wants to kill you and has almost gotten the chance to, and what do you want to do? You want to chase after some bloody ghost.

Molly glared at him with hatred that she didn't even knew she had for Greg. He had been there for her, all these years and even if most of the time, things like this had gone unspoken, he knew. He knew her, he knew what she felt and thought and had always tried to help her, even with the little things that shouldn't matter, but did. She had hoped that he of all people would have understood. Molly had thought that he out of everyone wouldn't call her crazy or insane or stupid..

"Fine then, if you won't help me I'll look for him myself!" She exclaimed and with more force than she meant to Molly rose, making the chair fall to the floor and walked towards the door, pulling it as hard as she could, to make fly against the wall. Maybe she was being a drama queen but the point would be maid none the less.

"Look for whom?" The wonderful voice of Sherlock greeted them as he stood chest to chest with Molly, one arm sneaking around her waist to steady her from falling to the ground as she almost collided with him.

"None" Molly said as she forced a smile while gently pushing Sherlock's hands away from her, regaining her balance.

"Whoever it is, must be looking for you too Molly and doing a pretty good job I might say"

"What?" Molly snapped her head around to look at him with confused eyes "Why would you say that?"

"Because this was left down at the reception with your name on it" Sherlock said and pulled out a big white box. Her full name was written in red ink on the top.

Molly felt her blood freeze as her heart stopped beating in her chest. It wasn't just her name written there, it was the name she had been born with, the name she hadn't let escape her lips since she had been fifteen. The name very few people actually knew about.

_Margaret Elisabeth Smith_

"How do you know that's me?

"You're insulting me Molly Hooper" He didn't sound angry but there was a slight change in his voice. "When I couldn't find you at all, I began doing research outside the box, namely you. And the one constant name that kept coming back up along with Henry Wilkinson was the same that is now written on this very box"

"You left this box here to simply get a reaction out of me, is that it?" She knew that Sherlock could be cruel and go to lengths that normal people wouldn't do, but just asking her would have been easier right?"

"No I didn't leave this at the desk" Sherlock said simply. "Whoever this is must be _very _anxious to see you." With that he stretched his hands out. "Here"

Molly glanced at the box suspicious. At least this one was too small to be flowers this time, but it was big enough to be filled with something her mind wouldn't even consider thinking about.

Her name was truly shining there in red, written very neatly and with a precision she didn't think Henry had, whom she was pretty sure didn't know her name either. They had decided to change them before the experiment, for safety reason.

"It is not from Mr. Wilkinson if that's what you're worried about." He piped in and Molly tried not to take notice to how close he was once again standing to her.

"How do you know?"

"Different hand writing from the card you got at the hospital. This was most likely written by a younger man. The letters are too far apart to be from an older man. There is no hesitation in there, which mean the person who wrote this knows you, very well."

Trying to swallow away the bad feeling that was rising within her, she opened the top. There was something lying there wrapped in purple paper. Placing away the top at the table, Molly begun lifting the paper way, and the second something begun to become visible, she shrieked and dropped the box which fell to the floor with a loud thud.

"That's…" Horrid she pointed towards the box and backed away, trying her best to hold back the nausea and not to vomit at the sight.

As calm as ever, Sherlock picked the box up from the floor and placed it onto the table. Carefully he wrapping up the purple paper and as it became visible he seemed to take no offense to the thing lying there. "I'd say this was a Bengal. " He muttered more to himself then to anyone as he begun examine the thing more closely.

"A what?" Lestrade piped up but didn't go any closer to see what was inside the box.

"It's a cat race" Molly said with a shaky voice as she looked at Lestrade. "I used to have one when I was younger. Got it as birthday present when I turned ten, but he got run over a car a few years later. I cried of course but if it hadn't been for…" She didn't finish the sentence. Unable to actually say his name out loud, she nodded towards the photo that was still lying on the table.

"So this is something personal to you?" Sherlock muttered as he put down the cat in the box again.

"Yes, very personal" Molly said as she took a step closer to the box at the table.

"Still think I'm chasing some ghost?" Molly said quiet as she tried to contain the anger inside of her as she glanced down at the little kitten again. It was so small and it looked like it was simply sleeping in the little box if it hadn't been for the stains of blood.

"No Molly" Lestrade shook his head as he looked at Molly, with a mix of shock and understanding. "I don't think you are anymore" He said softly as he took a step closer and laid an arm on her shoulder. "I'll go back to the office and see what we'll find, but keep in mind that we don't have a lot to go on, so don't get your hopes up. If he's been off grid this far, the chances of finding something useful are very small I'm afraid."

"At least we have his name, that's something, right?" She smiled weakly, trying to put a little optimism into the situation.

"We might not even have that Molly. If he has somehow managed to stay dead to the world all this time the only possibility it that he did so under a different name."

"There is Henry Wilkinson. They are connected somehow. The picture gave us that much at least. If we find Henry, we find him." She tried to sound confident and certain but with only a picture to go on, they were still chasing an invisible ghost.

"We don't know that either, Molly"

"Maybe he's trying to tell us something, maybe he's trying to warn me about something that might happen." Sinking into her own thoughts, she let eyes and mind wander towards the picture and to the dead little kitten. There had to be some way to prove that he was still alive.

"I need to go and check something out" She mumbled and before either Sherlock or Lestrade had the chance to react she was out on the street and calling for a cab.

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><p><em>Déjà vu <em>

Yeah, that was the only word that seemed to be crossing Molly's mind as she stepped out of the car and glanced towards the grave yard. Everything else had been blank in her mind from the second she had left Bart's. Thoughts and emotions had blurred together until her mind had shut it all out.

But now she was here, again.

All though this time, it wasn't just a dream. This time she was going to get some answerers from the living and not the dead.

The big black metal gate was standing there, just like before, all though this time it wouldn't magically open itself, which Molly was thankful for. No ghosts that could get her then and perhaps some proof that she hadn't completely lost it yet. If white ghost started popping up she would run to the first psych ward she could find and have herself checked in.

She could still remember where he was buried even though the last and only time Molly had been there was just after the accident, at the funeral. She had never had the strength or the courage to go back, because the truth was still there, hidden behind fake names and people that shouldn't exist. She had been responsible for his death.

It was starting to get dark though, and the rain had begun falling down again. Within minutes Molly could feel it soaking through her jacket and making its way to her jumper and shirt. Shivering, she continued to walk towards the east. He was almost buried at the end of the grave yard.

_Left _

_Straight forward until the stone with the roses in graved in them._

_Then left again_

_Walk until the stone with the name Sandra Collins. _

_On the right_

Molly stopped and despite the darkness she could still see the space where a grave stone should have been with his name on it, clearly enough.

"Not there" She whispered into the darkness. Maybe it was the shock of it all or simply this whole madness of it all, her legs gave up on her and she sank into the grass, her eyes never leaving the stone that should have been, but for some reason wasn't.

She didn't know how long she sat there, but there wasn't any strength to fight left in her. If he was alive, then the question was what else from those days had been a lie too. Everything she thought and knew had in a matter of minutes been transformed into something else.

Suddenly though, out of nowhere a big thick long coat was dropped over her shoulders, protecting her cold body from the rain. If she hadn't been too lost in what ifs and what had been and could be, she might have screamed and turned around to face the stranger. But the minute he stepped closer to her, she knew. She could feel his presence, like always, it send a shiver up her spin. Of course, it had to be him.

"How did you find me?" Molly asked her voice flat as she spoke but she didn't get up from the ground.

"Well, you're not exactly the smartest person Molly. Anyone could follow you and you won't notice anything, naïve as you just walk the streets, completely in your own world."

"Have other things on my mind at the moment than worrying about that." Her voice was still going on out pilot, her mind in too much shock to snap out of her own bubble.

"You should though."

"Should what?"

"Worry about people following you. You never know who might be out there in the darkness just waiting. Next time it might not be me" Was that worry in his voice again? Or maybe her mind was too tired to deal with all of these things. Too tired to deal with Sherlock and him actually, caring?

"It doesn't matter" Molly shrugged as she sat there, in the cold, wet ground. Somewhere in the back of her head, she could still register the rain that was falling onto them, but barely. Another part was telling her that she should probably get up. It didn't matter anymore.

"Come on, we need to get you home and out of these wet cloths" She could feel Sherlock's arms come around her, and lift her up from the ground.

"Doesn't matter" She mumbled and she could feel her legs giving in under her again. It was pointless.

"What doesn't?" He held her up, not taking notice towards her lack of strength as he led her towards the taxi that was for some reason waiting for them.

"Everything, Nothing.

Not answering, Sherlock managed to get both of them inside the taxi, and Molly knew she should have been thankful for the fact that he was here, right by her side. Maybe for all the wrong reason, but he was still there.

Soon enough, the taxi driver had managed to get up the heat in the small car, and thankfully the shivering's stopped.

"I'm not going to talk" Molly said, as she glanced at Sherlock, trying to get rid of the tension building up in the car.

"Wasn't expecting you too" Sherlock replied bored, his eyes fixed on the world passing by on the other side of the glass.

"Good" She mumbled as she drew the coat closer to her body. It felt thick and warm, and a part of Sherlock sent was lingering in it.

Silence filled the car again as they drove towards London again. Had the drive really been this long? Molly could feel herself falling slowly asleep, the warmth lulling her into a light slumber. She had forgotten that it had been almost in the middle of the night when she had rushed out of the hospital. It was probably morning by now. She knew that she should apologize for making Sherlock drive out here in the middle night for her sake, he shouldn't, but there was nothing left of her to do so.

Somewhere in her sleep she thought that she could her Sherlock's voice again, as a light breath tickled her ear.

"_Who were you looking for?"_

Maybe he was really asking or maybe it was just Molly's mind again, dreaming.

And maybe she said it out loud or just whispered it to a ghost that sounded like Sherlock in her sleep.

"_My brother"_

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><p><strong>Hopefully this chapter didn't completely suck! <strong>** and I do read all of your wonderful review, but mostly don't have the time to answer them! I want the good and the bad and the ugly! ** **Let me know what you think!**


	7. Chapter 6  Sneak Peek!

**_Hi Guys, sorry for the late update but my life has taken a whole different turn! For those who don't know, I've temporarily moved to a different country for 3 months. The U.S to be more specific, and I'm from Sweden so it's quite a distance. But since I have been a horrible writer I thought I would give you guys a sneak peak of the chapter that I am currently writing on right now. _**

**_Don't give up on this story! _  
><strong>

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><p><strong>- Sneak Peek of Chapter 6 – A confession of the heart - <strong>

Some people would probably have said if they had kidnapped and almost tortured to death, that it would have been their worst day in their life, especially if the man had been their boyfriend or girlfriend. Someone would maybe even confess that they were scared and alone and perhaps afraid of dying.

Some people would maybe have said that this was the lowest point in their life, that this was the breaking moment, where they could have chosen if they wanted to sink into that black hole or get up and off the ground and fight. If they had rushed out to a cold, dead grave yard in the middle of the night, they might have said something like that.

Normal people might have said something like that.

Molly Hooper didn't fit into that category.

She was the girl who barely lifted an eyebrow if she saw a dead body. She was the one who shrugged if someone threatened her, knowing all too well that most of them where just empty words anyway. Maybe if she had grown up like everyone else did, she might have said something about being afraid when the police question her about her kidnapper, she might have clung to Sherlock the second she had seen that poor cat lying dead in the box.

And yet, the things that scared her most right now, despite everything that had happened in the last couple of weeks, seems too silly compared to what normal girls should have. Molly glanced at the body that was sleeping on her sofa, the man looking more normal the she had seen him since, well, never. Sherlock Holmes could almost be passed as a bloke, while lying there silently sleeping.

It scared her.


End file.
